The power of touch
by justlovebt
Summary: Sweetjamielee Plan B summer Ficathon. Prompt: Have you ever been in love with a woman, or do you just like sleeping with them? Summary: Kalinda tries to answer, or rather avoid Alicia s quasi-serious question in her usual way, but finds her head, or is it her heart, is not in the game. ROMANCE/ANGST


**Title:** The power of touch  
**Author:** Bepatientimadoc AKA justlovebt  
**Fandom:** The Good Wife  
**Pairing:** Alicia/Kalinda  
**Word Count:** ~1800  
**Disclaimer:** I don`t own any of the characters of the lovely show `The Good Wife`.  
**Genre:** Romance, angst  
**Prompt:** Have you ever been in love with a woman, or do you just like sleeping with them?  
**Summary:** Kalinda tries to answer, or rather avoid Alicia`s quasi-serious question in her usual way, but finds her head, or is it her heart, is not in the game.

**Apology:** When I started writing this I had no idea it was going to turn out like this. I chose the prompt because I wanted to write a happy fic, but I think accomplished quite the opposite. The muse wants what it wants? But I still apologize profusely…

**_The Power of Touch_**

"Have you ever been in love with a woman, or do you just like sleeping with them?"

You spit out the tequila that has been burning your tongue, the droplets of alcohol spreading over the bar like misty rain. The bartender sighs, lifts the little glass, and mops up the mess with a grey cloth. You look at the piece of fabric, longingly, wishing you could do the same. Your mess, however, would need a lot more than a rag to come even close to cleaning up.

You turn, your nostrils burning and your eyes watering due to the strong beverage which had just made its way up instead of down. You take a napkin from the bar and dry your eyes, careful not to smear the perfectly applied make-up. The mask you wear every day. You look at her and roll your eyes, hoping self-mocking, clowning, can save you from this. This mess you have created that is worse than all others.

But when you catch her eyes, you know you're not that lucky. They stare at you, amused but surprised, and you realize your reaction has been too strong, and she is onto you. The twinkle in them makes you squirm, but in the meanwhile lifts your heart. You do not allow yourself to feel the latter. You can not admit it. You know what happens to the things, to the people you love. You've known since the moment you saw the remains of that sweet little kitten you`d cherished. You've known since the moment your best friend`s eyes had changed, turned cold and looked away from you after her mother had talked to him. You've know since the moment his words had been hissed into your ear and his threats had come truth, one by one. You know your love does nothing good. You know your love kills.

So you try to look away, only she won`t let you. Her gaze is stronger and softer than any touch, and confuses you, constricts your windpipe, heavies your tongue. You know you should make a joke, make light, say Kalinda Sharma doesn't do love, and never will. But you can`t. She has always made it hard to lie, something you`ve never had trouble with before.

That doesn't mean you haven't lied to her before. You have. You've tried to hide, to protect, to maintain the rare thing she has given you. The thing you are now trying, so hard to gain back. Her friendship.

You do not get why she let you back into her life. Why she is here, drinking tequila, asking you these things. You don`t get why she bothers, why she cares. But she does, and that is all that matters.

You have never said it out loud. You have never allowed yourself to even think it. To put into words what you feel for her. Because if you do, you know, it will destroy. You`ve tried to stay away and found that you couldn`t, inexplicably drawn to her since the very first moment she entered that office. You were sharper, nastier than usual even. But that had not scared her. It should have, but it hadn`t. And when you had asked her to join you in the bar, you had expected her to say no. You had wanted her to say no. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

She sees something in your eyes. She must, because the look changes, takes some of the heaviness of yours. She looks at her drink, then glances back at you. Her eyes full of something you feel too proud to accept, but that warms you from the inside anyway.

`Unrequited?`

You feel it flicker in your eyes and see the recognition in hers. You try to smirk, to be playful, when you give her back the words she once said to you.

'Unrequited, what does that even mean?`

The words come out all wrong. Hoarse and vulnerable, and you scare yourself. You know she doesn`t know. She never would even suspect. It took her ages to figure out how much Will actually cared about her, and he had not exactly made it a secret. You know she doesn't see so clearly when it comes to herself. You do not expect an answer, but even less you expect the soft hand on yours, the little squeeze, the warm compassion that almost makes your heart –and eyes- overflow.

`Are you sure? I mean… Did you tell…?`

The hesitation when it comes to the pronoun alone is already a question. It should be a weird question considering how this conversation started, but you know it`s not. You try so hard to focus on the part where you don't blurt out her sentence should finish with the word `me` that you surprise even yourself when you hear the answer. Your voice still strangely distorted.

`Her… And no, there is no use.`

Too late you realize how much you give her, that you answer all her previous questions just with those few words. You wait for the feeling of panic that should emerge… Now… Right about now… But the alcohol, -or maybe it's the hand that hasn't left yours after the earlier encouragement- has drowned the anxiety.

You laugh, snort more like, at the irony of this. Of sitting here, with this woman. Her. Of all people. You. Of all people.

You remember how he told you about the King who had the touch of gold. How he had touched the ones he loved and turned them into metal. Valuable metal, but metal nonetheless. You remember how he told you how you must be the Princess of Shit, because all you touch would never become anything but that. You remember and you look, at that hand, touching yours. At the woman to whom that hand belongs.

`Are you sure? I mean, you are KALINDA…`

She speaks your name in that special way. Like it`s a noun and not a name. But also like no-one else can. As if, for her, the name has a special meaning. Or maybe you just hope it does.

`Now, what does THAT even mean?`

The words come out sharper than you have intended. Bingo! The hand is pulled back. You grimace at the wrenching of your heart and down another shot, more smoothly now than before, to hide your facial expression. But then, as you lay your hand back on the counter, hers reappears and covers yours. You stare, inexplicably confused by the touch, by the lack of consequences it seems to hold.

`That you are Kalinda, and everybody is half in love with you.`

Her voice sounds soft, almost gentle. You pull back your hand, the touch suddenly almost as unbearable as the constricting feeling in your throat that always accompanies your memories. The feeling of the smoke, dark and hot, entering your longs. The feeling of death, that you welcome more than anything. But something… Something pushed you out. Survival instinct, a therapist had called it later. You had laughed in his face, and never gone back. (He had known NOTHING of survival.)

`Are YOU?`

You hear the question escape your lips and suddenly feel everything fall apart. It had meant to come out teasing, as a jest, a silly thing. But the words linger between you two now, spoken too softly, too angrily, too tenderly, too eagerly.

You see it flash in her eyes, the realization, the truth. You see the shock and force yourself to look away, to pull away, to hide away into the shell, behind the shield, the wall you`ve build around you. You push away your glass, unreasonably angry at it for being empty, before you get up to do what your best at. Flee.

Your mind is already considering the options, counting the money that is behind the plaster in your wall, when you feel her hand again. Tentatively, and so cruely soft around your wrist. You could hurt her, you know your strengths. But then again she has always been your weakness.

You look at her and think "What the hell". And "All is lost now, anyway." You think a lot of things, and yet you can`t think anything at all. And then you lean in to kiss her.

Her lips are softer than you had anticipated and seem to melt away under the touch of yours. It seems as if she kisses you back, with passion, with fire, with love, but you know it`s no more than your imagination. You yield and give everything you ever felt into the kiss. This short moment of touch. The only moment you will ever have. You taste the salt of tears, and for a moment want to withdraw, worried, until you realize they are your own.

You don`t know how or when the kiss ends, but you think breathlessness might have something to do with it. Her hands linger in your hair, unties the roll and sets your, normally captured locks, free. She presses her nose into it`s softness and sniffs, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms

'Would you run away if I told you that I`m not half in love with you?'

She whispers the words into your ear, the breath of air giving you shivers, before the words tense you up and make you want to pull away. Your body says `Yes', your desire to flee so great you can almost taste it. She senses and holds you close, clings onto you as if reluctant to let you go. You feel the tears slide down your cheeks, your face that has finally lost his mask. You lose the urge –the sense?- to struggle, to fight and give in. Your temple leans against her rapidly pounding heart.

`I am completely in love with you`

She speaks the words in a whisper, and your eyes shoot open. The desire to flee is replaced by the one to look, to see her face, her eyes, HER.

Her face is frozen, her eyes dark and full of question.

And for the first time in your life, when someone offers you an 'out', you consider `no.`

Then you see her bite her lip, you see her swallow, you see her eyes close slowly, realizing defeat, and it is no longer a question of `consider'.

You want to tell her you will stay, but somewhere, in the way from your brain to your lips, the words change.

`I love you, too.`

You hold your breath, but nothing crumbles, your heart stops but does not destroy. Instead you see a smile appear on her face, her eyes colored with tenderness.

Then, she touches your cheek and all you turn into is yourself.

**THE END.**


End file.
